‘Good to see you, Jimbo,’ said Shepherd. The two men hugged and slapped each other on the back. ‘When the hell did you get into shouting at women?’
‘They call it Boot Camp,’ said Shortt. He gestured at the camouflage T-shirt he was wearing. ‘You don’t think I’d wear this by choice? Mainly housewives who don’t get any other exercise. I tell them, sign up for my Boot Camp and you’ll drop a kilo a week, guaranteed. I’ll give them their money back if they don’t.’
‘A rucksack full of bricks, can’t beat it,’ said Shepherd.
Shortt laughed. ‘These girls haven’t exercised for years, you have to break them in gently.’ He leaned towards Shepherd. ‘Do you have any idea what those housewives are paying me?’ Shepherd shook his head. ‘Thirty quid for a ninety-minute session,’ said Shortt. ‘And there are eight of them there. I’ve got another ten doing the evening session. That’s more than five hundred quid for three hours a day. There’s guys out in Iraq right now earning less than that a week. And no one’s shooting at me here.’ He grinned. ‘And I do one-on-one training for a hundred and twenty quid an hour, Spider. That’s serious money. For hanging out in a gym.’
‘Can’t argue with that,’ said Shepherd.
‘You should give it a go,’ said Shortt, patting him on the back. ‘I’ve just signed a deal with a model agency to put some of their models through their paces. I could put some very fit birds your way.’
Shepherd laughed and held up his hands in surrender. ‘I’ve got a job, Jimbo,’ he said.
‘Where are you these days? Still with SOCA?’
The two men sat down on the bench. ‘Nah, I moved on.’
‘Secret squirrel?’
‘Why do you say that?’ asked Shepherd.
‘Just figured you’d end up with the spooks,’ said Shortt. ‘Anti-terrorism’s where it’s at these days and you’re a good fit – SAS background plus police experience. Is the pay good?’
‘I’m not getting nine hundred quid a day, that’s true,’ laughed Shepherd.
‘Then think about giving this a go,’ said Shortt. ‘The personal trainer business is booming, everyone’s health conscious these days.’
‘You’re the second person to suggest a career change this week,’ said Shepherd.
‘Yeah? Who was the first?’
‘Remember Lex, that Para who was my spotter out in Afghanistan? Scottish lad. Keen as mustard?’
Shortt nodded. ‘Yeah, thought he was putting in for selection?’
‘Change of plan. He’s self-employed these days.’ Shepherd reached into his jacket pocket and slipped the newspaper cutting to Shortt. ‘Recognise this guy?’
‘Ahmad fucking Khan,’ said Shortt as soon as he glanced at the photograph in the article. He looked at the name of the newspaper at the top of the cutting, and the date. ‘He’s in England? How the hell is he in England?’
‘We’re not sure.’
‘He’s a Taliban killer. He shot those three Paras in the back and he killed Captain Todd.’
Shepherd forced a smile. ‘I was there, remember.’
‘Damn right you were there.’ He bent his head down and read the article. ‘It doesn’t mention him,’ he said when he’d finished.
‘He was just caught in the picture,’ said Shepherd. ‘Wrong place, wrong time. But I’ve tracked him down. I know what name he’s using and I know where he lives.’
‘And now you’re going to slot the bastard?’ Shepherd nodded. Shortt handed back the cutting. ‘Count me in,’ he said.
‘I thought you’d say that.’
‘And that’s why Lex is around, right? What about Jock?’
‘Jock’s on board,’ said Shepherd.
‘The four musketeers,’ said Shortt. ‘Pity we lost Geordie. Geordie would have loved a chance to take a crack at Khan.’
Shepherd nodded. Geordie Mitchell had been the sixth man on the mission to destroy the al-Qaeda money house in Pakistan, the operation that had ended with the death of Captain Harry Todd and Shepherd taking a bullet in the shoulder. Mitchell had died a few years earlier in Iraq, killed by a sniper in the same way that Ahmad Khan had killed Harry Todd. ‘Do you have much in the way of souvenirs, Jimbo?’
Shortt arched his eyebrows. ‘What are you suggesting, Spider? Don’t you know that it’s a criminal offence to own unlicensed weapons?’
‘I do indeed,’ said Shepherd. ‘But I also know that every time you flew back from Afghanistan you had a rucksack full of souvenirs.’
‘Yeah, those were the days,’ said Shortt. ‘I made a packet selling stuff back at Stirling Lines. They were queuing up to buy AK-47s and Makarovs.’
‘But you kept some for yourself, right?’
‘I couldn’t possibly comment,’ said Shortt, rubbing his moustache.
‘Here’s the thing. We want to use Afghan guns for this. That way if the guns are ever traced, it’ll look as if it was someone from Afghanistan who’d done the dirty deed.’
‘There’d be a certain justice in that, wouldn’t there? He comes over here to make a new life, and guns from his past take that life away.’ He grinned. ‘That’s practically poetic, Spider.’
‘So you’ll help?’
‘Bloody right I will.’
Shepherd got to Thames House at 6.30. Amar Singh was still in his office, tapping on a computer terminal as he carried out a conversation via a Bluetooth headset. He waved Shepherd to a chair as he continued to talk about video feeds and IR cameras. Eventually he finished, took off his headset and shook hands with Shepherd. He reached down and pulled open a drawer. ‘OK, here it is, and I have to say it’s a nice bit of kit.’
He handed Shepherd an iPad and Shepherd frowned. ‘It’s an iPad?’
‘Top of the range,’ said Singh. He gave Shepherd a small metal box, the size of a cigarette packet. ‘That’s magnetic so you put it under the wheel arch or on the chassis, anywhere that it’s out of sight. You can hide it inside the car but if you do it’s important that you put it against metal. It’s the attachment that activates it. As it is, you can keep it for a year or two and it won’t lose its charge. As soon as it’s put up against metal it activates and the battery is good for about a week.’
Shepherd switched on the iPad. It had all the normal apps but there was one called Tracker. He held the iPad out and Singh nodded. ‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘It’ll give you a location on a map or Google Earth and it’s accurate to within six feet or so. The iPad needs a mobile phone connection but you should have that all the time, it’s done through a monthly account.’
‘You’re a star, Amar, thanks.’
‘No sweat. As far as I’m concerned it’s out on a test, just let me have it back when you’re done.’
Shepherd’s phone rang. He apologised to Singh and took out his phone, but grimaced when he saw who was calling. Charlotte Button. He considered letting the call go through to voicemail but the fact that she was calling him suggested that she knew he was in the building. He tried to keep his voice as cheerful as he could when he answered.
‘A little bird tells me you’re in Thames House,’ she said.
‘I’m with Amar,’ he said.
‘Problem?’
‘Just picking up a bit of kit,’ he said.
‘Swing by my office on your way out, would you? There’s something I need to run by you.’
She ended the call and Shepherd put his phone away. He picked up the iPad and the transmitter and put them into his backpack. ‘I should have them back in a couple of days,’ he said.
‘No rush, they’re as cheap as chips,’ said Singh. ‘It’s funny, ten years ago a device like that would have cost ten grand or more. Now the whole set-up is less than a grand and most of that is for the iPad. How’s the vest, by the way?’